


Merlin Memory Month Collection 2018 (March)

by schweet_heart



Series: Merlin Fic [108]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Post-War, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Angst, Arthur Finds Out, Arthur has magic, Arthurian, Arthurian mythology - Freeform, Banter, Bigotry & Prejudice, Canon Era, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Clubbing, Drabble Collection, Dystopia, Enemies to Lovers, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Episode: s01e11 The Labyrinth of Gedref, Established Relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fate & Destiny, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Fugitives, Heavy Angst, Herbalism, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Merlin, Loneliness, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Magic Revealed, Major Character Injury, Major Character Undeath, Marriage Proposal, Medieval Medicine, Merlin's Magic Revealed, Mutual Pining, Pining, Playful Sex, Poor Life Choices, Post-War, Reunions, Role Reversal, Roleplay, Screw Destiny, Separations, Sexual Roleplay, Tenderness, Throne Sex, Undercover Missions, Undercover as a Couple, destiny and chicken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-03-25 08:28:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13830330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: A series of unrelated Merthur drabbles written for Merlin Memory Month 2018.You can also follow along on my tumblrhere.





	1. Consonance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur may have more in common than they thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt Day 1: Thursday, March 1st**
> 
> Path I: _“Being different is nothing to be afraid of"_ – (The Lady of the Lake, 2.09)  
>  Path II: Books, Quills, Scrolls, Writing  
> Path III: Emotion/Mood: Kindness  
> Writing Path: Role Switch

 

Merlin has barely been in Camelot a week before he figures out Arthur’s secret, though it’s a lot longer before he works up the courage say something. At last, when the two of them are alone, Merlin waits for a pause in the scratching of Arthur’s quill and seizes the moment. 

 

“Arthur?”

 

“What is it, Merlin?”

 

Merlin gestures to the fireplace, and at his word a flame-licked dragon rises from the ashes, wings burning. Arthur’s face turns white. 

 

“You—"

 

“I’m a sorcerer too,” Merlin says, trying hard to smile. “So you see, sire, you have nothing to be afraid of.”


	2. Conspiracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's understanding of nobility leaves a lot to be desired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt Day 2: Sunday, March 4th**
> 
>  
> 
> Path  I: _“Nobility is defined by what you do, not by who you are”_ – (Gwaine, 3.04)  
>  Path II: Favourite Funniest Moment(s)  
> Path III: Emotion/Mood: Proud  
> Writing Path: Partners in Crime / Forced to work together

 

“I can’t believe you did that,” Merlin hisses, when Morgana has taken the remnants of the rat stew and gone. He looks vaguely nauseated, despite having proclaimed loudly that he'd eaten worse while Arthur had been force-feeding him. “I suppose you’re proud of yourself.”

 

“Relatively,” Arthur admits, smirking. “She did ask—and anyway, it’s not like it did you any harm.”

 

Merlin looks down at his plate and swallows hard, clearly regretting it. “Yes, well,” he says after a moment. “It still wasn’t very noble of you.”

 

“I’m the prince, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur reminds him, cuffing the back of his head with an open palm. “Everything I do is noble.” 

 

“Not everything,” Merlin mutters. He looks mutinous, and for an instant, Arthur softens. 

 

“It won’t hurt her,” he says, trying to explain. “And I know for a fact that she gave most of her food away in the Lower Town last night. At least if she's eating this, she won’t starve.” 

 

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Merlin says, shaking his head. “She’s going to kill you when she finds out what you let her eat.”

 

“Not at all,” Arthur assures him blithely. “I’ll just tell her you made it.”


	3. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin refuses to wait any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt Day 3: Thursday, March 8th**
> 
> Path  I: _“Sometimes you’ve got to do what you think is right, and damn the consequences"_ – (The Poisoned Chalice, 1.04)  
>  Path II: Gold or Green  
> Path III: Emotion/Mood:  Lonely  
> Writing Path: Time Skip, Then and Now, If we could meet again

 

“This isn’t the way,” Freya pleads, little waves lapping urgently around her feet. “Merlin, you know this is wrong. You were meant to wait.” 

 

On the shore, Merlin doesn’t look up from the circle he’s drawing. “Sometimes you have to take a chance,” he mutters, ignoring her. He talks to himself a lot these days. “Regardless of the consequences. Sometimes doing the right thing is worth it.”

 

A gust of wind breathes through the trees, scuffing out the line he is drawing. Merlin corrects it with shaking fingers. He is close now, so close. A few more runes, a spell, and it will be all over.

 

“He wouldn’t want you to do this.”

 

The last rune is wynne, the symbol for joy, and then Merlin steps into the circle. Eyes blurring with tears, he recites the spell.

 

“Merlin, no—!"

 

The last thing he sees is a world awash with gold.

 

 

+

 

 

When Arthur emerges from the water, it is spring, and the lake is teeming with new life. He feels the change in the currents first; the lilting voice that has kept him company all these many decades has a sadness in it, a note of farewell. Then there are hands at his wrists, coaxing him upwards with cool fingers, towing him gently towards the surface. His feet settle on the packed earth and he is walking, only vaguely aware of his destination.

 

Then, through a few feet of water, he can see the lakeshore, its banks overflowing with flowers and young trees.

 

A massive oak, several centuries old now, towers above the rest, its sturdy branches wreathed with green leaves, and beneath it there is a carpet of wildflowers, covering the bank in shades of red and gold. 

 

When Arthur takes his first breath, the air is filled with birdsong.

 


	4. Calumny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only choice Merlin has left is to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt Day 4: Sunday, March 11th**
> 
> Path  I: _“There is no place for magic in Camelot”_ – (The Disir, 5.05)  
>  Path II: Farewell(s)  
> Path III: Emotion/Mood: Forgiving  
> Writing Path: Magic Reveal

 

“Merlin, don’t.” 

 

“I have to, Arthur.” Calmly, Merlin folded the last of his t-shirts and stuffed it into the bag with his things, apparently oblivious to Arthur’s distress. “You said it yourself. There’s no place for magic in Camelot. Not anymore.” 

 

“And by magic, you mean you.” Arthur’s voice was bitter. “Why not just come right out and say it? You’re leaving because you’re afraid of my father.”

 

He saw Merlin purse his lips, but the warlock didn’t contradict him. 

 

“What your father is doing is wrong,” he said. “And if I thought staying here would make a difference, I would. But he has the full force of the law behind him now, not to mention the backing of a government that hates my kind. Fuck, Arthur, they’re talking about mandatory registration next, and we know where that will end up. You can’t honestly imagine that I’d want to stay.”

 

Now it was Arthur’s turn to look away, out the window and down into the overcast city beyond. No, he could fully understand why Merlin wouldn’t want to stay here—the country was becoming more dangerous by the day, and the hostility towards magic-users would only grow now that Uther Pendragon was in charge. What he found harder to comprehend was why Merlin would be so eager to leave _him_.

 

“This is because of Freya, isn’t it?” he said, his voice quiet. “You’ve never forgiven me for what he did to her.”

 

For an instant, Merlin’s expression softened. “Arthur, no.” He came around the side of the bed and caught Arthur’s arms, drawing him close until Arthur was forced to look him in the eye. “That wasn’t your fault. I know you had no idea what Freya was; you were only doing your job. But it’s not safe for me to stay in Camelot anymore. You must see that.”

 

“I can protect you,” Arthur said desperately. As Uther Pendragon’s son, he had access to all kinds of resources; he could hide Merlin and his family for years, if necessary. “Please, Merlin. You know I’d do anything for you.”

 

Merlin’s eyes closed briefly, his harsh inhale sounding loud in the still room. When he opened them again, the irises were ringed with gold. “Then forgive me,” he whispered, lifting a palm and laying it flat against Arthur’s chest, “because the best way you can protect me is if we’d never met.”

 


	5. Caged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Come dawn, they’re going to hang him for a witch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt Day 5: Thursday, March 15th**  
>  Path  I: _“It’s not victory I seek, it is peace“_ \- (His Father’s Son, 4.05)  
>  Path II: Favourite Villain/Opponent  
> Path III: Emotion/Mood: Agonized  
> Writing Path: Historical or Future AU
> 
> I would just like to add that this technically counts as both a historical and a future AU in this fandom, lol.

 

Come dawn, they’re going to hang him for a witch.

 

Merlin has seen men hanged before. He has heard the crack of their necks as they drop from the gibbet, seen the kick of their feet as they asphyxiate. It is a cruel death, and not a painless one. Tomorrow, it will be Arthur’s.

 

“I won’t let them do it,” he promises, his face pressed to the cold bars outside of Arthur’s cell. “I’d sooner burn the village to the ground than part with you again. You know I would.”

 

“You would not.” Arthur’s smile is so fond; it’s unbearable. “You’re not a killer, Merlin. Besides, better for me to die than for Aredian to get his hands on your powers. Your magic was never meant for the ends that bastard would put it to.”

 

“And you were never meant to die like a petty criminal,” Merlin retorts, his voice sharp. “But these things happen. If Aredian wants to use me as a weapon, then I’ll show him what I’m capable of.” 

 

The man who was once a king says nothing for a long time, only looks grave, but that, too, is unbearable. Merlin closes his eyes, listens to the clink of chains as Arthur approaches the doorway.

 

“There is no victory in vengeance,” Arthur tells him softly. His hand strokes the curve of Merlin’s cheek, and Merlin shudders, unshed tears stinging behind his eyelids. “Be at peace.”

 

“Arthur.” His voice breaks. The worst of it is that it is his fault, once again—all of it. How many times must he fail in his destiny before the fates are satisfied? “Don’t ask me to stand by and watch them kill you. Even if I could survive it, I can’t face spending another lifetime alone.” 

 

Arthur’s only answer is to kiss him through the bars, taking hold of Merlin’s hair with rough fingers, the slide of his mouth hot and familiar despite the coppery taste of blood. It’s not a promise, because they have long ago ceased to deal in such things, but it feels like one, and Merlin lets the tears fall from his eyes unchecked, grasping at Arthur’s shirtsleeves to keep himself steady. There are sparks twining through his fingers, the flesh-creeping fire of a lightning strike beneath his skin.

 

“Save me, then,” Arthur says, low and guttural. “But you know as well as I do that Aredian will never stop, nor deviate from his course until he kills me. And what then? At best, we will be living on borrowed time.” His thumb finds Merlin’s mouth and gentles it, soothing the pain there with a touch. “At worst, he’ll tell the whole world what you are, and they will hunt you. You will never be safe.”

 

“I can protect myself,” Merlin says, though it’s little more than a whisper. “I can protect us both.”

 

“No, Merlin.” Arthur’s smile is gentle, but very final. “That has always been my destiny, if you would but let me do it.”

 


	6. Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As always, Arthur’s message began with the same three words: “Are you safe?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt Day 6: Sunday, March 18th**
> 
> Path  I: _“It’s destiny, my love, destiny and chicken”_ – (Sweet Dreams, 2.10)  
>  Path II: Flowers, Herbs, Plants  
> Path III: Emotion/Mood: Tension  
> Writing Path: Letters, Emails, Texts, Messages

 

As always, Arthur’s message began with the same three words: “Are you safe?”

 

“Safe as I can be.” Merlin was holed up underneath a concrete bridge for the night, somewhere between London and Wales. He was cold, hungry, and tired, and half the bloody country wanted him dead, but for the moment he was okay—or what passed for okay, these days. “You?”

 

“Yeah.”

  
There was a hiss of breath over the connection, like Arthur was trying to hide the fact that he was in pain, and Merlin squinted, holding his tablet closer.

 

“What happened?” he asked sharply. Arthur was lying slumped against a tree trunk, his head tipped back, his breathing obviously laboured. “Arthur? You promised me that you’d be careful.”

 

“I _was_ careful,” Arthur grumbled. He looked terrible—face wan, sweat beading his hairline. Even so, he attempted a smile. “Still managed to get myself shot, though. Sorry.”

 

“Shit.” Merlin’s mouth went dry. “Is it—how bad is it?”

 

“Pretty bad.” Arthur shifted, giving a little grunt that tore at Merlin’s heart. “Listen, Merlin, I shouldn’t have called, but I just—I wanted to—”

 

“Shut up.” Merlin scrubbed at his face, pushing his hair back as he tried to think. “You do not get to say goodbye to me like this, you prat, do you understand? Just—look around you. What do you see?”

 

“I’m in the middle of nowhere, Merlin,” Arthur said, and he sounded tired. “There’s nothing here; there’s no one—”

 

“Bullshit there’s nothing there! There are _plants_ , Arthur. What do you think I did all those years with the Druids? I _studied herb lore_. Now tell me what you see, and maybe I can fix this.”

 

There was a brief silence on the other end, then Arthur gave a low chuckle. It sounded like it hurt. “All right,” he said, the words slow and forced. “I’ve got—some purple flowering thing, an oak tree, and that plant with the funny name—foil something.” 

 

“Cinquefoil?”

 

“No. Weirder.”

 

“Okay.” Merlin closed his eyes and prayed for patience. “What does it look like?” 

 

Arthur described it, and Merlin felt some of his tension ease, the tight, cramping feeling in his gut giving way to relief. “Oh, _yes_. We can work with that!” 

 

“We can?”

 

“Yes. You need to gather up as many leaves as you can and and chew them into a paste.” He made a face. “Probably won’t taste very good, but that can’t be helped.” 

 

Arthur shot him a look which suggested he must be crazy, but he did as he was told, letting Merlin talk him through creating a poultice, which he then packed into the loosely bandaged wound.

 

Finally, Arthur leaned back against the tree and sighed, his eyes closed. “I think the bleeding’s slowing.”

 

“Thank fuck.” Merlin gazed at him through the tiny screen, wanting so desperately to touch. There had been emails, once. Letters, texts, back when they could afford to put things in writing. Now there was only this, the two of them in their respective darknesses, breathing. Alive. “Fuck destiny,” he said, low. "I want to see you. For real, this time.”

 

Arthur’s eyes flicked open. “You can’t.” 

 

“I _can_. I’m tired of hiding in the woods like some chickenshit when people are _trying to kill us_.”

 

Arthur snorted. “Destiny and chickenshit,” he said. “That’s us.” 

 

“Shut up.” Merlin listened to Arthur’s harsh breaths, trying to pretend that the two of them were side by side instead of miles apart and being hunted like animals. As always, it wasn’t nearly enough, but he still couldn’t bring himself to hang up.

 


	7. Conviction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is a truth universally acknowledged that a cop going undercover must at some point pretend (not) to be in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt Day 7: Thursday, March 22nd**
> 
> Path  I: _“He is your destiny and he is your doom”_ – (The Kindness of Strangers, 5.10)  
>  Path II: In Disguise, Undercover  
> Path III: Emotion/Mood: Devoted  
> Writing Path: Character of your choice is late for work/an appointment because they overslept, but their master/superior/boss dislikes over-sleepers. They do love entertaining stories though….

 

Mordred Kincaid reminds Merlin of the sort of boys he used to run with back in secondary school: tall, slender and with short-cropped black hair, he’s covered in tats from neck to elbow, the words _Destiny_ and _Doom_ inked in glaring, mismatched letters above the knuckles of each hand. As a potential suspect, he’s so stereotypical Merlin almost feels insulted to have to investigate him; the only up side is that Arthur has been bullied into this farce too.

 

“He’s been here for-fucking-ever,” Arthur grumbles under his breath, glowering at Mordred over the rim of his drink. “What kind of criminal runs a crime ring from a gay bar, anyway?”

 

“Possibly a criminal who's gay,” Merlin says drily. “Although…we have no proof that's what he's here for. Maybe he’s just looking for a casual hook-up.” 

 

Arthur makes a face at him, and Merlin grins. He’s not sure what is riling Arthur more: the fact that Gaius chose them for this because they’re both gay, or the fact that he has them pretending to be _together._ They’ve hardly said two words to one another since the day they met, and even that had been under duress; Merlin has been of the opinion that Arthur is a Grade-A arsehole ever since he’d walked in on him shouting at one of his subordinates, and Arthur certainly hasn't done anything to disabuse him of the notion since then. The look on his face when they’d gotten their assignment had been the only thing which kept Merlin from refusing it outright, or at the very least claiming some kind of human rights violation.

 

The fact that Arthur is hot as hell also helps a little. 

 

“Fuck, he’s coming this way,” Arthur says suddenly, and Merlin’s head jerks up from where he had been not-so-subtly ogling the man’s forearms. “Quick, pretend to be my devoted boyfriend or something.”

 

Merlin opens his mouth to protest—why does _he_ have to be the devoted one?—but Arthur is already yanking him into the booth by one wrist, the remains of Merlin’s drink abandoned as he stumbles into Arthur’s lap. A glance over his shoulder tells him that Mordred really _is_ walking in their direction, though, so he hooks his arms around Arthur’s neck and tries to look besotted.

 

“What’s he doing?” he breathes into Arthur’s ear, under the pretence of kissing his neck. 

 

“Talking to someone,” Arthur mutters back, not-quite nuzzling him. “Dark hair, medium build, dresses like a rejected _Batman_ villain.”

 

Merlin snorts a little at that, which—yeah, is probably a bad idea when he’s wearing fucking skinny jeans and has his cock jammed up against Arthur Pendragon’s crotch. Arthur’s grip tightens reflexively around Merlin’s waist, and Merlin whimpers.

 

“ _Mer_ lin,” Arthur hisses through clenched teeth. “What the hell are you doing?”

 

“Playing the part,” Merlin purrs back, recovering himself. “What’s the matter, darling, is this not devoted enough for you?” 

 

He hears Arthur’s angry huff of breath, but instead of shoving Merlin away as he half expects, Arthur shifts beneath him, rolling his hips, and Merlin realises he can feel what is unmistakably the other man’s erection pressed against his arse.

 

“Could be more convincing, actually,” Arthur whispers, smug. 

 

It’s hot in the booth. Merlin can feel sweat trickling between his shoulder blades and along his spine, Arthur’s palm flat against his lower back as he grinds down—slowly, _slowly_ —circling his hips until they’re rubbing up against one another. Arthur’s mouth finds his neck, sucking against the pulse point, and Merlin momentarily forgets about Mordred and crime sprees and the entire Camelot Police Department as he moans and lets his head fall back. Fucking _hell_ that feels good.

 

By the time they resurface, Mordred is gone.

 

“Left through the back door,” Arthur reports, sounding a little breathless. “I think he’s going home with BatGuy. Looks like a false alarm.”

 

“What a shame,” Merlin says, sliding his hands beneath Arthur’s waistband in search of skin. Arthur groans, and he murmurs, “Come home with me?”

 

“We have to work tomorrow,” Arthur says, but not like he’s disagreeing. “Gaius hates it when we’re late.”

 

“I know.” Merlin only smirks. “We’ll just tell him that we overslept.” 

 


	8. Celebrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knew that he should leave; that he should pretend he’d been looking for a friend like a normal person and go, but Arthur was still staring at him, those familiar blue eyes studying his face intently, and walking away had suddenly become impossible.
> 
> Sequel to Drabble #4 (Calumny). You should probably read that first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt Day 8: Sunday, March 25th**
> 
> Path  I: _“The story we have been part of will live long in the minds of men"_ – (The Diamond of the Day II, 5.13)  
>  Path II: Anniversaries, Celebrations  
> Path III: Emotion/Mood: Rebellious  
> Writing Path: Create A New Holiday

 

It was snowing when Merlin arrived in London. 

 

After so many years, there was little about the embattled city that struck him as familiar. Entire rows of houses had been razed, some of them on purpose, some as collateral damage during the various Mage Wars of the last half decade. Arthur had not been in the city when it fell—Merlin had checked—but the sight of so much destruction still made Merlin’s flesh creep, as if the bombed-out buildings were watching him, judging him with their gaping, windowless eyes. 

 

He hated London. Even now, the place invoked too many conflicting emotions to be comfortable, despite the fact that most of the Anti-Magic Laws had now been lifted. The final Sorcerers’ Rebellion had been brief but terrible, burning across the country like a magefire and leaving chaos in its wake. Now that it was over, the government was too busy piecing itself back together to persecute anybody, and whole areas of the UK were struggling to rebuild, huge swathes of the population left dispossessed and homeless. Merlin had worked with one of the Rebel cells operating out of Ealdor, a small village near the Welsh border, but the group had been disbanded once London had been taken, leaving him with nowhere else to go. 

 

So he had come home. Not that it really felt like home, anymore, since no one remembered who he was, but it was the only place he wanted to return to.

 

Arthur’s flat was, by some miracle, still standing, although a few blocks away the houses had been reduced to little more than rubble. This part of the city still had electricity, it seemed, because the whole place was lit up from top to bottom, and it took a moment before Merlin remembered that today was Arthur’s birthday. Alban Arthuan, the Druids called it. The Light of Arthur. They’d probably make it a bloody holiday. He stopped directly across the street, trying to tell himself that the ache in his chest was down to the cold and nothing more, the tears stinging his eyes a product of the cruel wind and not the pain currently twisting up his insides. He wasn’t very successful.

 

He had been standing there for a long time, looking up at the buttery light spilling through the windowpanes and wondering if he dared to take a peek inside, when he heard someone clearing their throat behind him. He jumped, nearly losing his footing on the slick pavement, and turned to see the very last person he’d expected to run into on a snowy street so late at night. 

 

“Excuse me,” Arthur said, in that same stupidly posh voice, his gaze sweeping over Merlin with well-bred suspicion. “Are you lost?”

 

“I—” Merlin’s words seemed to get stuck in his throat. “N-No, I’m…”

 

Arthur’s expression softened as he watched him grope for words. “Were you looking for someone? Most of the other families were evacuated during the war, but there’s a local Displaced Persons office a few streets away—they might be able to help you.”

 

“Right,” Merlin said. “Yeah, of course. Thanks.” He knew that he should leave; that he should pretend he’d been looking for a friend like a normal person and go, but Arthur was still staring at him, those familiar blue eyes studying his face intently, and walking away had suddenly become impossible.

 

“It’s my birthday,” Arthur said abruptly, apropos of nothing. He held up the plastic bag he had been clutching in one hand, and Merlin spared a moment to think inanely, _shops must still be open, then_ , before Arthur was saying, “I had to go out for more food, but there’s plenty now, if—if you want to come in. We’re having a party.”

 

Merlin’s heart was lodged somewhere high in his throat, but he nodded. He even managed a stammering thank you, which made Arthur smile and duck his head, looking at Merlin sideways like he couldn’t believe he was actually real. It was so much like the day they’d first met that it made goosebumps ripple over Merlin’s skin, but it was possible that was just the cold.

 

They were all there, in Arthur’s apartment. Older and certainly wearier, Gaius stoop-shouldered and ancient, Gwen and Lancelot with a toddler in tow. Merlin stopped in the doorway, drinking it all in: Gwaine, draped over Percy by the punchbowl, Mithian and Elena arm-wrestling over the last packet of crisps. When he glanced back, Arthur was watching him.

 

“I don’t think I caught your name,” Arthur said, his voice soft. Almost expectant.

 

Merlin cleared his throat, trying not to believe that some remnant of their story might live on in Arthur’s mind. He’d done the spell himself—it was impossible. 

 

“Merlin,” he said. A hope. “My name is Merlin.”

 


	9. Coronation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even now, the feel of Arthur’s hands on him is somehow just like the first time, both familiar and strangely unexpected. 
> 
> Or: How Merlin Got His Crown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt Day 9: Thursday, March 29th**
> 
>  
> 
> Path  I: _“In life you always have a choice, sometimes its easier to think that you don’t."_ – (A Remedy to Cure All Ills, 1.06)  
>  Path II: To love and/or being loved  
> Path III: Emotion/Mood: Playful  
> Writing Path: Established Relationship
> 
> For Kitty, who wanted throne!sex.

 

In this light, the throne room looks larger. Arthur had refused to bring a torch with them, on the off-chance that someone might walk in—“It won’t make any difference whether they can see us or not,” Merlin had argued, but Arthur simply glared at him, saying, “It will make a difference to _me,_ ” and Merlin had been forced to give in—and the moonlight spilling through the mullioned windows makes the shadows look deeper, drowning the pillars and pedestals in an ocean of blue and white. Arthur is dressed only in the shirt he wears for bed, his bare feet making no sound as he follows Merlin into the assembly hall and up to the dais that houses the throne.

 

Tonight, it's Merlin’s turn. Unlike Arthur, he has no compunctions about stripping off his own shift and sitting down naked: in fact, he relishes it. There is something almost like vengeance in taking Arthur here, at the very seat of his power, thereby thumbing his nose at generations of Pendragons who would have considered his very existence tantamount to treason once upon a time. Arthur, however, always hesitates, as if expecting the ghost of his father to rise up from the grave in outrage.

 

“Come on,” Merlin says impatiently. He hooks Arthur closer with one leg, leaning up to kiss him, and Arthur half laughs into his mouth.

 

“Someone’s impatient,” he teases, bracing himself on the armrests as he climbs into Merlin’s lap. He straddles Merlin’s thighs and closes his oiled fingers around Merlin's cock, sliding tantalisingly along the length as Merlin gasps. Even now, the feel of Arthur’s hands on him is somehow just like the first time, both familiar and strangely unexpected. 

 

“How do you want it, _Your Majesty_?” Arthur purrs in Merlin’s ear, thumbing the head of his cock in a way that makes Merlin groan. “Fast? Or— _slow_?”

 

“Now would be good,” Merlin breathes, and Arthur gives a punitive twist of his wrist, making Merlin keen in spite of himself. “All right, all right! Let’s take it slow.” 

 

“Good choice.” Arthur’s touch gentles again as they kiss, soft and sweet enough to make Merlin's spine melt, and this—this is why Merlin loves his Golden King so much: because this is the essence of Arthur, really, the unabashed tenderness that he shows so rarely, the moments of unexpected intimacy.

 

When Arthur finally sinks onto his cock, Merlin lets out a sound that echoes through the deserted hall, thrusting upwards. Arthur grips the back of the throne and bears down, rocking forward a little before he lifts his hips and begins to move in earnest, head down, brows furrowed, as if this were yet another test of honour he is determined to pass. There are no silly endearments now, only the slide of skin against skin, Merlin’s hands gripping Arthur’s wrists and his shoulders aching, the taste of gilt and metal on his tongue. 

 

Arthur rides him until he comes, spilling onto Merlin’s stomach with a quiet grunt that Merlin suspects has less to do with his holding back and more to do with the atmosphere of the place, achingly silent as it is. Merlin follows shortly afterwards, shuddering under Arthur’s hands, and when they separate Arthur’s silver-blue gaze is hooded and dark, possessive in the way he gets when he thinks no one else can see. He runs a thumb along the line of Merlin’s mouth, and Merlin kisses it. 

 

“What are you thinking?” he asks, sliding his hands into Arthur’s hair. He combs it away from Arthur’s forehead, and Arthur tilts his head back into the gesture, looking down at him with slitted eyes. 

 

“I have a proposition for you,” he says. Moonlight gleams on the sweat along his shoulders, turning his hair to white gold. “Or rather, a present.”

 

“I’m pretty sure you already gave me that,” Merlin says, leaning forward to nuzzle at the hollow of Arthur’s throat. Arthur’s low chuckle reverberates inside his mouth. 

 

“I was thinking of something a little more permanent,” he says. He shifts his hips, reaching for something, and Merlin grunts at the friction against his sensitive cock. “Something…something like a crown.” 

 

It takes a moment before Merlin fully understands, but when he does his whole body goes still. 

 

“You—you want me to—?”

 

From somewhere, Arthur has produced a golden circlet, not unlike the one he used to wear as Crown Prince. He turns it over in his fingers, tracing the slick shine of the metal the way he might a blade. He must have planned this—he must have been waiting _all day_ to ask that question, the one that lies heavy in the silence between them. 

 

“Arthur—”

 

“I know,” Arthur says quickly. “I know how you feel about royalty, and I know you never wanted that kind of power. But I wanted to—you do know that I’ll always—”

 

“Yes,” Merlin says. 

 

“Yes?”

 

“Yes, you prat,” Merlin says fondly, taking hold of Arthur’s faltering hands and helping him to settle the crown in its rightful place. It doesn’t weigh as much as he imagined, not with Arthur sitting there, looking at Merlin like he’s given him the world. “As if there could be any other choice.”

 

“You could run away,” Arthur points out, smirking. “Take up with Lancelot, travel the world…”

 

“You wouldn’t last five minutes without me,” Merlin replies, and kisses him.

 


End file.
